


VI The Chariot

by Timeforelfnonsense



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-06 06:41:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21222233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Timeforelfnonsense/pseuds/Timeforelfnonsense





	1. Chapter 1

The soft brush of lips against his own. The feeling of finger wound through his hair. The smell of sweet, smokey sent of alder hangs thick in the air. The dream comes to him the same as it does every night since he had fled the city three years ago. Perhaps longer though, if that was true the memories were now lost.  
“Be careful.” She hums between kisses, “The palace is a dangerous place.”  
He chuckles burying his face into her curls. He breathes her in, the familiar smell of saltwater and clove filling his nose.  
“Don’t worry about me.” He assues, placing a kiss atop her head, “With the palaces resources, I’m sure I’ll find a cure in no time.”  
“I swear if anything happens to you...” She bites her lip casting her gaze to her feet, “I- I just don’t attach myself to people, you know? I’m not built like that… But if I ever did… It doesn't matter. Forget it.”  
“I don’t think I’ve ever known you to be at a loss for words.” He tugs her closer. His heart aches to see her lips without that dazzling grin of her’s, “I suppose I just have that effect on people.”  
Still, her brows knit together they way they always did when she’s upset. Tears threatening to pour from her amber-gold eyes. He watches her reach into one of the pouches hanging from her hips. She produces a small sachet filled with delicate purple and white flowers. She takes his hand in her own, placing the sachet into his palm.  
“It’s a protection charm, angelica and heather.” She offers him a sad smile that feels too much like a goodbye, “Something to remember me by.”  
“I hardly think I could forget you.” 

A sharp pain hits his temple. He winces, eyes squeezing shut. When they open he is in the palace dungeon working into the early hours of the morning. He glances over at the letters piling up on his desk. Reports from the city of the rising death toll. He’d been here for nearly six months and he’d yet to make any progress.  
He stopped responding to her letters months ago. It was better for them both this way. He couldn’t afford any distractions. She was beautiful and enchanting, with many options. He reminds himself that she had told him once that commitment wasn’t in her nature. She had told him many times before she had fallen into his bed of her many love affairs and casual dalliances. He closes his eyes imagining her on the deck of a ship once again. Grinning ear to ear as the sea spray hits her cheeks.  
How many times had he imagined her that way? Before he came to this dungeon of horrors he had always pictured himself with her. A lopsided smile tugs at his lips. They would have made quite the pair of swashbucklers. Perhaps they’d join Mazelinka’s crew? Or after the plague was nothing but a bitter memory, he’d buy her a small ship. She’d take him to all her favorite ports as he would her.  
The sharp feeling returns and he finds himself standing on the shores of Lazaret. He chokes on the heavy smoke. She stares into his soul her eyes dyed scarlet. Ash falls from the sky and clings to her shroud. Her face is sickly pale, her curls thinned. He tries to get closer. To call to her but she slips away. He feels the memory of her fading no matter how hard he fights it. Her voice, her face, her laugh all slipping away like sand through his fingers.


	2. Chapter 2

“Julian!”   
He wakes on the floor of Mazelinka’s hut, tangled in bed sheets. Cold sweat trickling down his neck, his breaths still short. Loss and longing pulling at his heart though he can’t quite recall why.   
“Julian, are you alright?” Fable rushes past the shabby curtain to his side, “It sounded like you were having a nightmare   
“Ah, that would be because I was having a nightmare.”  
She takes a seat beside him on the floor, tucking her legs underneath herself. She reaches over to the nightstand, producing a flask made of olive green glass from her bag. She uncorks it with her teeth before passing it over to him. The rum tastes of cinnamon and cloves, warming his whole body as he drinks.   
It’s stronger than he would have expected, more the kind of drink he’d expect to find on a pirate ship then in a ladies bag. He thinks back to when she had found him at the Raven, how at home see seemed despite her home in the nice part of the city. He glaces over at her, handing the flask back.   
“Why were you out of bed? I didn’t wake you did I?”  
She shakes her head, knocking back a swig of rum for herself.   
“No, I was already up.” She corks the flask and shrugs, “Couldn’t sleep.”  
“Oh? Hmm. Lucky for you, I’ve got some experience in the field of insomnia. Have you tried lying in bed consumed by ever mistake you’ve ever made? If that doesn't work you can try pacing and muttering to yourself. Or feverishly writing letters you’ll never send. They won’t put you back to sleep but they’ll pass the time.” He offers her a wishful half grin, “I wish we had more time. But I’m just being selfish aren’t I?”  
He pulls himself back onto the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling.   
“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?” She inquires, golden eyes burning into him with a look that could strip him bare.   
“Ah can’t keep anything from that piercing gaze, can I?” He sighs, “Do you believe in forgiveness?”   
She arches a brow, “Forgiveness?”   
“Do you- Do you think even truly heinous things can be forgiven? Or are there some things you don’t get to come back from?”  
She sits silent for a few moments. He can see the gears turning in her head as she thinks over her response.   
“I think it depends on what and why.” She finally responds, “Sometimes life forces you to do things you don’t want to because it’s the only way. Some things are unforgivable but not many. I do know you can’t stay frozen though. Life has to go on.”   
“I just wish I could remember… then I’d know if I did something unforgivable.”   
“What will you do if you have?” She retorts fingers worrying the hem of the loss fitting shirt.   
“If I can’t make it right… I’ll take whatever punishment I deserve. Without question.”  
He shakes his head and lets out a dark chuckle, “Well isn’t this a dour conversation. Five cups of coffee and I’ll get the pep back in my step.”   
He patts the space in the bed beside him throwing the bedding back. Inviting her to join him. She crawls into the the sheets, tucking herself under his lean arms.   
“What’s the world like, outside of the city?” She asks, looking up at him though curly lashes.   
“Not had much cause for travel? I’m surprised honestly. You seem a worldly sort.” He pulls her a little closer, “I’ve been all over. What do you want to hear about the pirate ships that plague the Frozen Sea? Or maybe the priest lords of Firent? Ahh I could tell you the tale of the floating city of Hjalle-” His ears go red, “Ah, maybe not that one. It’s a little compromising.”   
She giggles, “I hardly think you could offend me.” She pauses for a moment, “Tell me about where you grew up?”   
“Nevivon, a little town south of here, in the salt flats. It’s known for its salt water hot springs.” His tone nostalgic, He absentmindedly runs his fingers through his hair “I haven’t been back in a spell and once Pasha left I didn’t have much reason to go back.”  
“Do you miss it?”   
“I suppose I do. Do you miss your home?”   
She is clearly not from Vesuvia. Her accent, her style of dress are distinctly forging perhaps somewhere southern? The points of her ears indicate elven heritage, a people not often seen in Vesuvia.   
“I suppose I must.”   
Her response is a bit hollow. Her voice ringing with uncertainty. He can sense the building tension.   
“How about I tell you about the time I stole a pregnant war elephant?” He watches the tension ebbed away with her laughter. “But only if you promise to still have some respect for me.” 

She’d nodded off halfway through his second story. She now dozed softly beside him in the little twin bed. Her head resting against his bare chest, loss ringlets tickling his skin. He traces the line of her collarbone with his index finger. She was so small. Waking, her bold presence seemed to add a few inches. He watches the way her chest rises and falls with each slow breath. It’s strangely mesmerizing. He places a peck on her exposed shoulder.   
“Beautiful…” He whispers before placing a lingering kiss on the line of her jaw.   
He couldn’t remember ever wanting anyone this badly in all his life. She’d only been in his life for a short time, yet it felt as if she had known him for ages. She was fearless and strong and oh so painfully lovely.   
Panic seizes him. He can’t keep her… He was selfish to even consider asking her to stay. He should have insisted she take the bed and slept in the hole. He’d put her in danger by encouraging her advances. If the countess found out… A chill runs down his spine.   
He slips out of bed, untangling himself from her limbs. He needs air. He needs to be away from her. To shake himself free of his love sick haze. He slips his jacket and coat on glancing back at her sleeping form. Careful of the creaking floor boards he dips out of the hut.


End file.
